Pressured to Murder
by mk162rl8619
Summary: Joan becomes emotionally involved in a case that Sherlock and Joan investigate at the apparent suicide of valedictorian-to-be of a New York boarding school.
1. Chapter 1

The police had yet to find the body. Detective Bell scurried around, muttering into a walkie-talkie, but as of the moment, no evidence had surfaced. David Wu's roommate, Jeremy Davis had been missing for the past three days. Sherlock, flannel buttoned to the neck, a suede jacket covering his shoulders, frowned as David told them what he could of the seventeen-year-old's disappearance. Joan stood nearby, hair in a ponytail, surveying the scene. They were standing on a bridge, a couple miles off campus of Brookmont Boarding School. The wind bullied wispy clouds across a blue sky. It was March.

"Like I said, I came home from practice on Friday, and Jeremy said he was going out for a walk. That was pretty normal, he was under a lot of stress. Lots of pressure to be valedictorian of our class. Usually he comes back within an hour, but I didn't start worrying until about midnight. I figured he might have met up with some friends or something, so I didn't say anything. Besides, no one else in our dorm thought it was weird. It wasn't until today, when Jeremy wasn't in class that I realized something was seriously wrong. I called his number and the phone was down, so then I called the police." David shrugged.

"The boy's family is on the way." Detective Bell said, in passing. Sherlock's eyes were on the ground, scanning the bridge. David knitted his eyebrows.

"I really have no idea what could have happened to him. The campus is so isolated, why would anyone come here to…" He didn't finish. Joan said,

"There's no guarantee he's dead. He might have lost his phone, and it could have been run over, or dropped in the river. Jeremy might still be fine."

"I am afraid that is highly unlikely. Look." Sherlock pointed to a few scratches on the rail of the bridge. "Headmaster said this bridge was repainted two weeks ago. No, it is not probable that Jeremy Davis is in the land of the living."

At that moment, a shout came up from the team who was walking up and down the river. A couple hundred yards ahead, something had come up.

"Oh no." Joan said. Waterlogged, and certainly not fine, Jeremy Davis's corpse had surfaced.

"So the question is, suicide or murder?" Joan leaned her back against the plastic chair of the math classroom that the NYPD had invaded.

"Suicide, for sure. Happens every year. These kids literally kill themselves over school." Detective Bell shook his head.

"It's such a shame. He had such a bright feature."

"It's always those ones. " Sherlock was standing by the window. He was frowning. "Something wrong?"

"Yes." Sherlock turned. "The scratches. If he killed himself, what were the scratches?"

"Maybe he changed his mind, but it was too late."

"That would be extremely difficult to orchestrate." Detective Bell threw up his hands.

"Who says he even made the scratches, it could have been anything."

"Could have, but wasn't. If you like, you can check samples from the bridge. But I am confident I am right." Sherlock drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Why?" Joan asked.

"If it was a creature, there would have been marks all over the bridge. Unless we have a Loch Ness Lizard, it was the late Jeremy Davis." Sherlock turned back to the window. Joan nodded. Detective Bell sighed.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt. But even if you're right, it doesn't prove anything."

"Nothing on its own proves something. The facts must be put together." Sherlock traced his finger along the window.

"Did you find the phone?" Joan asked. The detective nodded.

"It was still in his pocket."

"Is there any way we can get the records? Maybe he called someone, or was supposed to meet someone. If it was a murder, the only person who would have done it would be a fellow student. He was first in his class, and as you said, the pressure on these kids is enormous."

"I'll check it out. I really don't think it'll come to anything. If these kids care so much about their future, why would they risk murder?" Detective Bell raised his eyebrows and walked out.

An hour later, the detective burst into the classroom. Joan stood up and Sherlock walked over from the window.

"Holmes, you were right. His DNA was all over those scratches." He was breathing hard. He appeared to have been running ever since he left his patrol car. Waving the pieces of paper in his hand so that no one could read them, he said, "And that's not all. We tried to recover the drive on the phone. We couldn't get much, but we got the time the phone entered the water. 7: 37." He shuffled through the papers. "At 7:10, he received a message from Amy Wong, asking him to meet her on the bridge."


	2. Chapter 2

Feet drumming against the hall of the third floor, Joan followed Detective Bell and Sherlock as they scanned the labels on the dorm rooms. They heard a door slam. Detective Bell began to sprint. The sound of footsteps scattering down the stairs was followed by a string of curse words as an electronic lock with a passcode halted the detective's chase. Breathing heavy, he thrust his hands in his pockets and strode back towards them, clutching his walkie-talkie to his face.

"Hey, Carlsson? Yeah, the girl just took the fire escape. Of course you should stop her, why do you think I'm telling you?" He stuffed the walkie-talkie into its belt-clip, muttering. "Come on." The three of them piled back into the elevator, heart-rates accelerating. When they, hit the ground floor, Bell saluted his second-in-command. "Did you get her?"

"We can't find her, sir. We have men guarding the exit to the fire escape. She might still be on the stair."

"Yeah, well, keep someone there until we find her."

"I've already found her." Sherlock said. He began to run around the corner. Watson dashed after him, calling back,

"Windows." Detective Bell cursed again, and rushed after them.

Black hair flailing, Joan watched the distance between Amy Wong and themselves increase. She lead them off the path, over hills, through a small brook and then, on the edge of the forest, disappeared. Joan caught up to Sherlock, who, between gasps, said,

"That young woman clearly belonged in an Olympic training camp." He bent over. Detective Bell arrived. Into his radio, he said,

"She's in the wood. Can't be far." Turning to Sherlock, he asked, "How the hell did she get away?" Standing straight, Sherlock shook his head.

"With extreme intelligence. She took the fire-escape down to the second or first level, and then jumped out of a window. Managed to circumvent every single one of your officers." Bell glared.

"Yeah? Well, we'll work on fixing that. Hey. Over here." Bell waved his arms at a couple men trotting down the hill. Sherlock shook his head again.

"She's already proved herself far too clever. We may never locate her." Bell turned on him.

"If I have to pull every cop in the state, we will find her. She's a murderer, at barely seventeen-years-old." He trudged off towards the other officers. Still shaking his head, Sherlock began to return to the school.

"Hey. Are we leaving?" Joan trotted after him. She watched the back of his head bob up and down.

"No point in staying. She'll leave when she wants to. Besides, we don't want anyone confusing the two of you in the dark. It's hard to tell if a tree's a person, let alone two people of the same height with the same hair."

Sherlock and Joan stood in Amy Wong's dorm, looking for evidence. The spirit in the halls was relaxed. The text paired with Amy's flight seemed to have convinced the entire community that she was the murderer. While the whispers were still hushed, there were whispers. Two hours before, there had only been silence. Uneasiness grew within Joan, however, as she read from Amy's diary. Something was wrong.

"_Got a ninety-six on a math test today. Study-bot Jeremy aced it, of course. I suppose that's what he meant when he said we had different goals. If only he knew. _

_ If only he knew how angry it makes me to be pent up in this factory. We're numbers here. I feel like I'm in a concentration camp. There's no such thing as a release of pressure. I would say that I wished I was stupid, but I know my parents would just attack me with an army of moronic tutors. I wish that I'd had the ability to tell them, no, that I don't want to be a fucking doctor and I don't want to live with these people for the rest of my life. They're smart, yeah, but that's all they are. They're spoiled and rich and conceited and make me want to throw textbooks at their heads and burn down the whole school. What did I want? I wanted to run. I wanted to go for the Olympics. But now I don't even want that because I know that it'll be just the same. The same narcissism, the same competition. Never knowing who has your back. I thought Jeremy did, but I guess I was wrong. I guess I'm the only one on this whole damn campus who realizes that life as a freaking computer program kind of sucks. The world's not measured in black and white and numbers, it's not even measured, it's just colors and pictures and experience. Is that even possible these days? It doesn't seem like it. I wish I had the courage to drop out of high school. I don't know what I'd do. I might move far away, or become Almish, or something. Something where it wasn't all about being something someone else told you to be. I'm not going to try for valedictorian anymore. I've realized I don't want it. I'm sick of all the expectations. I'm like a trained puppy that those bastards expect to roll over and give up who I am and what I want. I'm so angry."_

"Sherlock. Sherlock you have to read this." Sherlock bounced over.

"What is it, Watson?" He frowned.

"Look." His eyes scanned it, eyebrows gravitating towards each other the further he went. He looked up at Joan. She met his gaze.

"I don't think it was Amy."


	3. Chapter 3

"You guys think that because of what this girl wrote in her diary that she is innocent?" Detective Bell raised his eyebrows. "Ignoring the part about burning down the school, ignoring the fact that the death message was sent from her phone and ignoring the fact that she ran the second she saw us coming for her?"

"I know the way she's been acting is extremely incriminating, but I think she's going through a lot, and I have a hard time seeing someone so sensitive plotting out a murder for a grade she doesn't care about."

"A grade she says she doesn't care about." Upon seeing the protest on Joan's face, Detective Bell said, "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong, but the evidence isn't in your favor. She could have written this diary just to mess with us. I'm sorry, but we can't call off the search because of a diary entry." The detective turned away. Joan turned to Sherlock.

"You agree with me, don't you?" Sherlock stared at his feet.

"I must say, this is a difficult case. I agree that the diary entry throws more doubt on the subject than what we had before, but by no means does it prove anything. However, if you feel strongly about this," he paused for a slight bow, "I will do my best to support you, as I have found your instincts of the past fairly insightful."

"So you don't agree with me."

"The behavior of Amy Wong alarms me. Normal, innocent people don't run like that unless they have something to run from. Quite clearly she had planned how to get away beforehand." Joan remained silent. "Come on, the fire escape? The jump out a two-story window? All this proves is that Amy Wong is an incredibly complex person, a criminal mastermind, or both."

Joan crossed her arms and nodded. She knew that both Detective Bell and Sherlock had a point. But she knew the crucible of school better than both of them. She was a doctor, for God's sake. School could drive to self-destruction. But the jump to murder required more immersion in school affairs than Amy Wong's diary showed. Sherlock began to walk towards the hall. She followed him.

"Well, who was it then?"

"What?"

"If not Amy Wong, who was it?"

"Well, the only motivation we have is that Jeremy Davis was going to be valedictorian. So someone in reach of that." Sherlock nodded. Joan stopped walking.

"Oh my God. Sherlock." Sherlock stopped and turned, an eyebrow raised. "What if the person in third was the one who did it? They killed Jeremy Davis and framed Amy Wong so that they would be first in line."

"That's a possibility."

"Well, who was in third?"

"Let me check. Detective Bell forwarded me the list." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Norma Ranik."

"But, that's Amy's roommate." Joan began running down the hall to the elevator. Sherlock trotted after her. "See? It's perfect. She could have just used the phone when Amy was asleep or something."

They arrived in Amy Wong's dorm. A blonde girl was stretched out on the bed. When they opened the door, she jumped.

"You guys scared me to death. Are you the police?"

"We're with the NYPD." Joan said.

"Thank God."

"Are you Norma Ranik?" The girl frowned. From the look on Joan's face she could tell that something was wrong.

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

"We are now considering you a suspect in this case." Sherlock clasped his hands behind him and stretched his neck. The girl sat up.

"You must be kidding. I thought you'd already decided it was Amy."

"We have discovered further evidence that sheds doubt upon the case against Ms. Wong." Sherlock said.

"Well do you have any evidence at all that it was me?"

"Not at the moment. But you have motive and opportunity, ingredients in the suspect formula." She stared at them.

"You're whack. I don't know what kind of idiots they're hiring over there."

"Hey, I am a doctor, and he is the best detective in England. Don't talk to us like that."

"I would like to remind you Ms. Ranik that your fate is in our hands."

"You can't touch me. I didn't do it." She lay back down. "Just read Amy's diary."

Joan looked at Sherlock. He frowned.

"We've read her diary."

"Obviously not. I have it." Joan watched as Norma dug through a pile of dirty clothes and produced a small blue notebook. She held it out to Sherlock.

"Why would you have Amy's diary?" Joan narrowed her eyes. Norma shrugged.

"Needed notebook paper. She wasn't in." As Sherlock opened the notebook Joan said,

"We have a diary of Amy's. It's not that one."

"Well that one's the one with the good stuff in it." Joan rose an eyebrow. "So I need a lot of notebook paper, so what? At least I don't kill anyone." Norma paused. "If I did set this up I'd be a genius."

" , was Ms. Wong a good roommate?"

"Yeah, except for the part about her being a psychopathic anxiety machine with OCD."

"Would you say that she was moody?" Sherlock tapped the blue notebook against his hand. Norma laughed.

"Yeah you could say that. I asked her if she was bipolar once and she threw a book at me. Why?"

"Thank you Ms. Ranik. Good-bye." Sherlock walked out, still holding the diary.

"Aren't you going to tell me?" Norma called after them.

"Sherlock, why-" Sherlock handed the new diary to Joan. Joan's eyes scanned it. She felt a chill run through her. Looking up at Sherlock, she said,

"She has MPD."

"Or schizophrenia. I'm sorry, Joan." On the page, written in a scrawl were the words, "The Davis boy is too far ahead. He must die. It is a risk. I must take it. I must be valedictorian. I must."


	4. Chapter 4

Joan watched as a handcuffed Amy Wong was carted into an ambulance. It had been a week. They found her collapsed on the forest ground. With her great insight, she had forgotten that she needed to eat. Joan felt tears welling up in her eyes. She still wanted Amy Wong to be innocent. She thought of the girl, hundreds of miles away from home, sharing a room with the snobby slob Norma, cold and alone, with a mental disease no one knew of, trying to make it, torn by conflicting interests, dumped by her boyfriend, and driven to murder. And now it was over. Her life was ruined. She was aware of Sherlock walking up behind her.

"Things do not always come together as you wish, Watson. The truth is hard sometimes."

"I just don't see how no one could have noticed if she had this problem." Joan shook her head. "She needed help. But her parents just sent her off to a boarding school, put all this pressure on her and waited for her to crack."

"I am sure it was not intentional." Sherlock said. Joan turned to him.

"It never is. But that doesn't change anything, does it?" She turned away.

"I'm truly sorry Joan." Joan waited for the but clause, the "but she did kill someone," the "but someone has to pay for the Davis boy's death." It didn't come. She glanced at Sherlock. He was looking down at his shoes, hands behind his back.

"She reminds you of yourself." Joan nodded, wiping her tears. Sherlock stood for a moment. There was a pause, as he rocked back and forth on his feet, unsure. Then, slowly, he put his arm around her. Joan cried.

"She's not you, Joan. You have to let it go." After a few minutes, they began walking, back up the hill, towards the school, a stormy monolith scarring the sky.


End file.
